The Portrait's Boy
by LikeBear
Summary: I need you, yes of course I need you. I need you to be here. I need to know that if there comes a day when all I've worked for is undone, that you will be forever as I intended you to be. Wise. Giving. Beautiful...
1. Prologue

Prologue

_Welcome Master. I've been—_

_I'm leaving my dear. Tonight._

… _Excuse me master?_

_I'm afraid I simply cannot stay; I thought I could make my colleagues see reason but they've made it quite clear that cannot happen._

_Was it…. The burners?_

_Isn't it always?_

_But you've been able to compromise thus far—_

_Because a compromise is neither a goal nor a defeat- it is a foothold from which I felt I could attain complete victory. Alas, their ignorance is too great._

_That is regrettable, I had grown fond of this chamber._

_I think you'll find your new accommodations suitable._

_Where will I go?_

_Oh I don't know, perhaps the entry way?_

…_What?_

_If I had my way you'd be someplace like that; somewhere everyone could see you._

_But… then I'm not going with you? I'm to stay here?_

_My dear…_

_I have always been loyal, I would never doubt your wisdom—_

_Yes. That is how I made you._

…

_The fact of the matter is I cannot take you with me where I intend to go. Besides, my students may yet need you._

_Do you not need me?_

…

_Master?_

_I need you, yes of course I need you. I need you to be here. I need to know that if there comes a day when all I've worked for is undone, that you will be forever as I intended you to be._

_Master…_

_Wise…_

_Master…_

_Giving…_

_Master—_

_Beautiful._


	2. Chapter 1: The Boy Who Listened Part 1

Of all the shifting staircases, hidden passageways, and secret chambers housed within Hogwarts Castle, one of the school's most magical features was undoubtedly how it never failed to amaze. From the very first class to be greeted by its four founders to the young boy whose face was currently pressed against the window of the Hogwarts Express, everyone seemed to have almost the exact same reaction upon seeing the school for the very first time.

"Wow…" said Benjamin as they drew closer and closer to the castle.

Suddenly, the school wasn't quite so close anymore- a firm hand had taken hold of his robes and abruptly pulled him back into his seat.

"Argh! You don't need to be so rough Amanda," Benjamin said to a girl sitting next to him as he massaged his neck.

"Well then you don't need to be gawking out the window like some brain dead muggle born," Amanda snapped back. She turned back to her mirror and continued to apply her makeup. Ben was amazed that her eyes could hold anymore- she already resembled a mildly enchanted raccoon.

"You shouldn't talk about muggle borns like that! Mum says—"

"I know, I know!" Amanda droned in an exaggerated voice. "'It's only scumbags like you-know-who that look down on muggle borns,' but there's no denying they're all weirdoes. Only natural seeing as how they don't know nothing."

"Amanda! —"

"Shh!" Amanda hushed him quietly, but with a deadly seriousness that had Benjamin firmly holding his tongue. She put away her make up and mirror, and listened at the compartment door. She then got up and stood in front of it. Shortly after, Ben heard it too: footsteps.

A figure came into view and opened the door.

"Hey, uh, it's a bit crazy in my compartment- mind if I ride this last bit in here?" His voice was deep and smooth, yet it carried a slight warble that told Ben he was not being completely honest.

"Yes," Amanda said in a voice that warbled like a foot-thick steel door, "I do mind." Her stance mirrored her voice- she stood as a solid wall, both blocking the boy from coming in, and blocking Benjamin from sight.

"Oh um… I guess it is your cart and all… but uh, my name's—"

Amanda slammed the door shut. She just stood there, still blocking Ben from view even as the boy stood on the other side of the door, dumbfounded. After a moment, he went on his way.

"First years," Amanda complained as she sat back down, "troll brains in goblin bodies, all of 'em! That one'll probably be a Hufflepuff. You better not be a Hufflepuff."

"Why not?" asked Benjamin, who'd heard almost nothing about Hogwart's humblest house. "I thought Slytherin were the bad ones?"

"Well at least the Slytherins win the house cup every once in a while," said Amanda, "Hufflepuffs are like the Chudley Cannons: everyone plays nice, and they all finish last."

"They don't sound so bad."

Amanda stared at him for a moment before heaving a heavy sigh. "It's stuff like that Ben- that's why I don't want no one to know we're related."

"I think someone's gonna figure it out," Benjamin reasoned, "Remember, Mom said you have to look out for me."

"Pssht!" Amanda gave a derisive chuckle, "As if! I rode the whole way here with you- if you weren't listening to all of my sage advice then tough pasties. Once this train stops, you're on your own. If you come anywhere near me in the corridors, especially when my friends are around, you'll be walking jelly-legged for a week."

Benjamin's eyes widened in panic. "What! B-b-but what if—"

"Nope." She said, pulling her makeup back out.

"Yeah but what if—"

"Nu-uh," She eloquently intoned as she applied an extra stroke of eye shadow with a flourish.

"But-"

"No Benjamin!" She said, dropping her makeup to look him straight in the eye. "I might let people know we're related if you do something cool or important like that chosen guy."

"I don't think that's what he was called—"

"I don't care Ben. The point is I don't need anyone giving me a bad name, so just make your own stupid little first year friends."

Benjamin's silence made it clear that he understood, as did his expression; he looked as though he'd just been told he had a terminal illness. Amanda held the mirror back up, but she cast her brother one last glance before applying yet another layer of eye shadow.

"You want one last bit of advice?"

Benjamin turned his head faster than a flash of lightning. He nodded fervently.

"Alright well… You know the sorting hat? Well, when you've got it on right, it's going to talk to you and stuff, so like, if it says something about how it's gonna put you in Hufflepuff, then start freaking out or something till it changes its mind… except don't make a prat of yourself in front of the whole school. Just like, freak out in your head, ok?"

Benjamin nodded, but this time with significantly less enthusiasm. He was hoping for a bit more from what might well be the last thing his sister said to him all year, but bringing that up wasn't going to make Amanda any more helpful.


	3. Chapter 1: The Boy Who Listened Part 2

As compared to the view from outside, there was something about Hogwarts' interior that was a tad disappointing. The place was certainly roomy enough- there were quite a few first years waiting at the door to the great hall and most had spread out into their own groups rather than wait in line- and what with the tapestries, suits of armor, and moving (in some cases clearly gossiping) paintings, there was plenty of grandeur on display. But as compared to the awe-inspiring walls and towers that could be seen at a distance, when examined from so close, Benjamin thought there was something strangely lifeless about the place.

"—Of course, the castle simply hasn't been the same since the battle," a voice said from above. Ben looked up to see one of the Hogwarts legends he'd been most curious about: the ghosts. The entire assembly floated lazily above the gawking first years, some casually observing, most merely going about their own conversations, like the one Ben had overheard, who wore a curiously thick ruff around his neck.

"You can reform stone, wood, bricks and steel with a simple incantation, but I tell you, there's some damages that run deeper."

"True," responded a portly man in ancient clergy robes, "Quite true." He then did something that, from what Ben knew, was most peculiar for a ghost: he drank from what appeared to be a metal beer mug. It was admittedly hard to tell given that the mug was as transparent and silvery as the ghost who held it, but he could even see the ghost's Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed.

"How can a ghost drink?" Ben wondered aloud. Evidently a little louder than he intended, for the ghost in monk's clothing looked down with a curious expression, his mouth puffed as though filled with liquid. Ben turned away, pretending to stare at a suit of armor, fearful that he might not only have been rude but also dead wrong, and that the ghost was considering dropping the mysterious substance on his head.

After a moment, his curiosity got the better of him and Ben looked back up, only to see the ghost was much, much closer, smiling down on him. After Ben had jumped a foot backwards and apologized profusely to the three people he'd knocked over, the ghost said:

"I'm not actually drinking; I died with the mug in my hands so—" the spectre opened his hand and gave it a shake; the mug stuck as though it were a strange growth on his hand- "it stayed with me in death, much like my clothes."

"Oh…" said Ben, slowly acclimating to the idea that the ghost had no desire to harm him, "but then…" Ben's question trailed away into a rather pregnant pause. The ghost gave a chuckle, as though he were a cheery uncle discussing an old scar he'd attained in his youth.

"I'm not really drinking of course, just going through the motions. Merely an old habit from my living days." The ghost glided around Ben and tilted his mug so that he could peer into it. No matter which way the ghost turned it, the brew inside stayed in one place: gathered in the corner, with drops seemingly frozen on their journey to the mug's mouth.

"Why's the beer all in the corner like that?" Ben asked. The ghost's smile slowly fell. He looked as though he had suddenly fallen deep into a line of thought that he'd stopped pursuing long ago, and hadn't wanted to pursue ever again. Ben realized why almost immediately: he'd inadvertently asked this dead stranger how he had died.

"Oh, no. No, I'm so sorry!" Ben said, shaking his hands as if trying to wipe away his previous question.

"Ahem."

Ben turned his head sharply. He was so flustered that he hadn't heard the great hall door opening, a process that took enough time for the other first years to get back in line, leaving him the only one both out of line and talking. This earned him a rather condescending- but no less painful- stare from the old professor at the door, a man who more closely resembled a walrus than a human being.

"We're ready," he said, "for any first years that aren't otherwise occupied."

Ben bowed his head as he filed in behind the other first years. Before it was his turn to move however, the ghostly monk appeared once more, floating upside down right in front of his face.

"Don't worry about that old slug. I'm the Fat Friar, and if you're lucky enough to make Hufflepuff, I'll be your house ghost." The Fat Friar, still upside down, flew right up through the ceiling. When Ben looked back, he was already several steps behind the other first years.

Rushing to catch up, Benjamin found himself in the great hall… or was it some strange courtyard? No, this was merely the hall's fabled ceiling, enchanted to look like the sky above, which was currently an inky black, broken up by the odd star or planet shining from afar. He peered down the four tables, scanning the houses for familiar faces. He saw one or two children he recognized from his father's parties, before he finally found Amanda, sitting on the left side of a group of- rather less made up- chattering third and fourth year girls. She did not seem to be as involved in the conversation as the others, but after a quick glance in Benjamin's direction, she seemed suddenly much more interested in what everyone else was saying. Ben was brought back to his own predicament by a collision with the girl in front of him.

"Ow!"

"Sorry!"

"Ahem."

The Walrus-like teacher gazed out at the students, standing between the four house tables and the staff table with a large roll of parchment in hand. Beside him was an old, care-worn stool, upon which rested what could only be the sorting hat. It was rather more patchy and raged than Ben had expected, and shouldn't someone have dusted it before the sorting?

Perhaps someone had indeed forgotten, because as the largest of the hat's many rips flew open, rather a lot of dust flew off in all directions to accent the hat's croaky, yet oddly charming song:

"_Oh, I'm the Hogwarts Hat of Sorting_

_I'm neither shiny, nor am I new,_

_But more so than any headwear_

_I can tell a lot about you. _

_Soon you'll wonder where it is_

_I learned what's in your head,_

_Believe it or not, I was taught _

_By four who are long dead._

_It was Brave Godric Gryffindor_

_Who taught me to perceive_

_Courage in the hearts of those_

_With heads thicker even than he!_

_Then wise Rowena Ravenclaw_

_Spent many patient hours_

_Teaching me to spot the seeds_

_Of knowledge that could flower_

_And Sweetest Helga Hufflepuff,_

_My kind and humble friend,_

_Showed me the hardest workers_

_Are those on whom the school depends_

_And finally Salazar Slytherin_

_Showed me his heart and mind_

_They both held cunning and ambition_

_Which I now know how to find_

_In all those youthful wizards_

_And witches on whose heads_

_My tattered form shall be placed_

_Till long after you're all dead_

_Looking for the qualities_

_Of these Hogwarts Houses four_

_Into which you shall be sorted_

_For now and ever more!" _

The entire hall erupted into applause. Benjamin joined in of course, but rather less enthusiastically than most; his gaze had again shifted to his sister. Like him, she was clapping without much conviction, and seemed to be managing to examine her nails even as her hands flew back and forth into each other.

Ben was just wondering how she could do that when he heard, "Almond, Serena!" The old professor had begun calling names from his roll of parchment. Whoever she was, Serena Almond stepped forward to be the first student sorted into their class. Benjamin watched closely as the old professor dropped the hat down on her head. It fell all the way to the bridge of her nose. Although her eyes were not visible, he saw by the twitching of her mouth that, whatever the hat was supposedly saying to her, it was clearly making her nervous. After a little less than a minute, the hat's rip flapped open once more, and it called out:

"RAVENCLAW."

Serena removed the hat and gingerly placed it back on the stool before walking to the Ravenclaw table, where she was greeted with thunderous applause. Although she was wearing a pleasant little smile, Benjamin thought it looked a little forced; perhaps she had hopped for different results?

"Amal, William," a boy with shoulders rather broader and hair rather neater than either should've been at his age, was the next to be called. The hat took barely three seconds to declare him a Gryffindor. There was no disappointment on his face as he strutted to Gryffindor's table to sit next to the ghost wearing the ruff. He did seem slightly put off when the ghost with the ruff patted right through his shoulder however.

The sorting went on for some time in this way: "Bellemy, Bradley," "Damon, Erica," "Fadlem, Aaron," "German, Richard," and more sat at the stool for one or two or thirty or forty seconds, or however long it took, and were sorted into "SLYTHERIN," "SLYTHERIN," "HUFFLEPUFF," "GRYFFINDOR," or wherever they were meant to be. When "Peckman, Xavier," was called, he knocked the stool over after he picked the hat up. The entire hall burst out laughing. The boy turned to face them, wearing a mask-like smile as a shield against their laughter. When most of it had died out, he said, as if to the entire school,

"Sorry…"

Ben immediately recognized the voice- this was the boy who had come to their compartment. Moments later, he became a Gryffindor.

After what Ben was sure was at least an hour, he finally heard the old professor call:

"Reyfield, Benjamin."

Ben stepped out of line and began longest ten foot walk of his life. He turned his head for one final glance towards Amanda, but she was staring at something on the castle's right wall that was clearly occupying her full attention.

He finally drew level with the stool. Ben felt as though he couldn't be doing this right; he was going to be with his house for his entire magical education, surely there was something more to it than this. He looked to the professor, who looked back at him as though he was a recent victim of a skunk attack. Ben gave what he hoped was (and knew wasn't) a charming smile, before turning back to the stool.

He picked the hat up and sat down. He took a moment to look out at the hall, maybe a quarter of which was even looking in his direction, and pulled the hat over his eyes.

The voice came a moment later.

"Well well well… interesting case we've got here… are you perhaps… courageous? Yes, but more so I'd say you're just honest. Then are you… intelligent? Yes but more observant than brilliant I'd say… you certainly are a determined one aren't you, but not the sort to remain anonymous… and you definitely want something… something… something more than what you've been told you can have… goodness you're a complicated one…"

Whatever that meant, Benjamin was afraid this was taking rather too long.

"Hmmm… I suppose that when you boil it all down, there's really only one question, isn't there?"

Benjamin's heart stopped. He was no longer aware of the students, or the hall, or the school, or the lucrative magical career it was supposedly preparing him for; there was only him, the voice, and this dark, musty world they shared.

"Where do you think you belong?"


	4. Chapter 1: The Boy Who Listened Part 3

"—Right down here!" the prefect's booming voice called out. Benjamin looked up abruptly- he hadn't been paying attention. Had he missed something important? No, he was just telling them how to get to their dormitory, but Ben could just follow the rest of them for now, and tomorrow… tomorrow… tomorrow, and just about every day after that, he just didn't want to think about.

He should have been trying to rationalize the hat's decision, to reason to himself that his family wouldn't be ashamed, to convince that voice in the back of his head that it was wrong about this being "the end of it all;" even if none of that worked, he still should've been trying, but he simply couldn't. All he could do was keep plodding on behind the rest of the house, repeating over and over in his head: "I'm not supposed to be doing this, this is wrong; I'm not supposed to be doing this, this is wrong."

The rest of the house turned a corner past a particularly grim looking suit of armor, but he just stopped dead. He wouldn't- no, he couldn't go to the dormitory! There had to have been some kind of mistake, because if there hadn't been, if the hat had been right…

He ran. He turned and ran away from everything he could see. He didn't know if he was trying to find the hat, or the headmistress, or a teacher, or the dormitory he was supposed to be going to, or trying to run away from the school entirely; he just couldn't be here. He had no idea where "here," was supposed to end, so he just kept running and running. He ran past tapestries and statues and all manner of medieval décor as the torches on the wall blurred like the headlights of the muggle cars he used to watch go by on the street below his bedroom window. He ran up the stairs and down the corridors that composed the sea of stone that was Hogwarts castle. He ran and ran and ran and ran.

He ran until he simply couldn't anymore. He stopped, gasping for air, so exhausted that he not only bent over, but knelt down on the floor. Gradually, he breath slowed, but didn't steady; he stopped clutching his sides, but he couldn't get up either. After a moment, he had a look around- he was in an uncharacteristically barren corridor; no paintings, no statues, no armor or shields, just a large wooden door, that stood open by a crack, and three windows on the wall opposite it. He had no clue where he was, but judging by the moonlight he was very far off from his dormitory.

Now that he actually stopped to think about it, the fact of the matter was he had to get back; it seemed as inevitable now as it had unbearable before. Leaving Hogwarts wasn't an option, and he doubted very much that any of the teachers wanted to hear an eleven year old telling them that their talking hat was going daft. That meant the only place for him to stay was his dormitory; even if he fancied the idea of sleeping on some cold stone floor, all of his things had already been brought there. But how could he find it if he had no idea where he was…

Trying to find his bearings, Benjamin stood up, and peered through the opening of the large wooden door. He'd barely turned his glance that way when he saw something move. Just what it was he didn't know, but aside from that, all he could see was a large painting. Figuring it was as good a place to start finding his way as any, he opened the door just wide enough for him to walk through. He tried to do so noiselessly, but this door's hinges were obviously in need of a good greasing, and he wasn't entirely convinced he hadn't drawn too much attention to himself; he made a mental note not to stay here too long.

Benjamin found himself in a most peculiar chamber. It was so peculiar that he felt even more lost just looking at it- it was a small room made of the same stone as the corridor, but somehow more evenly spaced, more neatly implemented. It made appeared to make a perfect square into the walls of the castle, but it might just have seemed so even because of how barren it was: the only furniture was a large stone chair with emerald green cushions; It resembled a small, simplistic throne. The chair faced directly in front of the painting, which depicted nothing but a simple background, like a green mist. Clearly this was a portrait whose subject was out for the evening. That must also have been the source of the movement, as Ben couldn't see a way in or out of the room other than the door he had just entered.

At any rate, he clearly wasn't going to find a way back to his dormitory here. He turned around, and made to walk out, but had barely taken a step when he stopped dead; what had he just seen out of the corner of his eye when he'd turned around? Benjamin turned back, and gazed at the painting. Once again it was gone almost as soon as he saw it, but he was sure of it now; he'd seen what appeared to be a woman's face, or rather the left side of it, staring at him from the side of the portrait frame, peeking out as though the painting was a window; she might as well be on the other side of the wall, wondering when it would be safe to come out again.

"Wait!" Benjamin called, slapping his hand over his mouth as he remembered that he didn't want to be caught wondering the corridors on his first night. "Come back!" He implored the mysterious woman, much more softly this time.

Silence was his answer.

"Please!" he begged, no longer concerned with controlling his volume, "I know you're there and I need to get back to my dormitory and I have no idea where I am and I... I…" Ben stopped talking. He was in a small stone room, god knows how far from his dormitory, and whether he got back or not without getting caught, he'd still have to face the rest of the school tomorrow. He simply had to face the facts; he was up a creek, and no one was coming to his rescue. He'd just have to do the best he could on his own.

"Tell me where your dorm is. I can tell you how to get there."

The voice Benjamin heard was clearly coming from the side of the frame where he'd seen the face, but the woman had not returned.

He beamed. "I'm in the-" his smile fell as soon as it rose. He decided it would be nice if at least someone didn't know.

"Could you tell me where I am? I can figure my way back if I know that."

"Certainly not!" The voice sounded indignant at this idea, though still soft and refined in spite of its anger.

"Please! I really need to get back…"

For a moment there was silence. Then the woman peered out again, this time showing even less than half of her face; just enough for her left eye to clear the frame. As such it was hard to tell, but he thought the woman might be trying to assess him.

"We're at the very end of the third floor corridor on the east side. And close the door when you leave." Benjamin knew enough about the castle from listening to Amanda to know how to get where he needed to from there.

"T-Thank you!" Ben stammered as he hurried out the door. He's almost closed it when the portrait said:

"Boy."

Ben stopped with only a crack left before the door was shut. "Yes?"

After pausing, perhaps for thought, perhaps simply for effect, the portrait said, "Don't come back." And slid completely out of the frame.


	5. The Portrait's Boy: An introduction

The story you are about to read takes place in the Harry Potter universe, but it does not concern the life and times of Mr. Potter, young or old. This tale beings in the year 2000, two years after Lord Voldemort's final defeat, and well before Any of the next generation of well known wizards (Teddy Lupin, the Potter children, etc.) will attend Hogwarts, the only location of the tale.

Rather, this story concerns a new student, Benjamin Reyfield, and his relationship to a most unusual portrait housed within a secret chamber of Hogwarts. Even interactions with the teachers will be given minimal description so as to keep the focus squarely on the new cast of characters.

So if you've the predisposition to try something new, the curiosity to explore new possibilities of the Harry Potter Universe and its magical concepts, and the courage to see follow a heart-rending tale through it all, then I welcome you to the tale of:

The Portrait's Boy


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